


Lovely

by zhennie



Category: Inception (2010), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crossover, Dreams, Established Relationship, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, do you remember how you got here?, extraction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:18:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhennie/pseuds/zhennie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have been called many things lately,” she comments, “a ghost. A shade.” She pulls back, “But you, Captain Rogers, you may call me Mal. And now I have a question for you: do you remember how you got here?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On Friday, Steve Rogers wakes up. The sun is coming through the curtains, cheerful and bright as Steve blinks at it, confused for a minute, although he can’t exactly place the reason why. It’s Friday, in the year 2012, and apparently, he has overslept. 

“Steeeeeve. It’s too early, come back to bed.” 

Ah, that explains it. It is Friday, in the year 2012, and Tony has turned off his alarm clock. Steve feels a rush of contentment as he smiles down at Tony, who is facedown in a pillow, the sunlight streaking over the lean muscles of his back. Well, it is Friday, after all, and he has just completed a particularly tricky mission for SHIELD. Sleeping in one day isn’t going to hurt Steve, and he deserves it, after all. So the super-soldier lies back down, pulling Tony in close and closing his eyes. His last thought before falling into unconsciousness again is that the super-serum really was amazing—he can’t feel any of the bruises he had gotten yesterday.

\--

In an abandoned warehouse, there is a hissing sound, echoing off the empty walls.

\--

Steve finds himself heading into the common area of the Tower, where Bruce stands at the stove on breakfast duty, the rest of the Avengers in various states of consciousness. 

“Morning,” Steve says cheerfully, opening the refrigerator door and rooting around for the orange juice he _knew_ he had just bought but couldn’t find. 

“Good morning, Steve,” Bruce says with a smile, “breakfast will be done soon, if you want to wait.” 

Steve turns away from his search to give Bruce a smile and thanks before turning back to the fridge, where he grabs the carton of orange juice—Steve could have sworn it wasn’t there a moment ago—and a glass.

“How was your run?” Natasha asks, taking a dainty sip from her coffee mug as Steve makes his way over to the table. 

“Good,” Steve replies automatically, although he feels a strange, nagging feeling as he tries to remember his run. He must have gone on a run, because Steve doesn’t feel sticky like he usually does after a run, which means he showered, which means he must have gone on a run.

“…Steve?” The blond snaps back to attention, looking over at Natasha, who looks at him with a quizzical look. Sitting—or rather, splayed out—between them is Tony, all but inhaling his coffee.

“When did you get here?” Steve asks Tony suddenly. 

“What’re you talking about?” Tony replies, “you’re the one who dragged me out of bed, Cap. Sheesh, the things I do for love.” And Steve feels his mind and heart skip at that, and he loses the thread of whatever he was thinking before that moment to smile at Tony and kiss him, although that prompts a round of juvenile noises from Clint. He still feels like he’s missing something, but Steve just chalks that up to stress. This is the first day all week that he hasn’t been running around like a chicken without its head, after all. He just needs to rest, and everything will go back to normal. 

\--

The sun sets, the last rays of sun slipping through the windows of a warehouse, hitting red, white, and blue metal and reflecting the light.

\--

Steve is on the street running errands when he sees her. She holds herself in an elegant, almost aloof manner, poised and graceful as she levels her gaze at him, icy blue. She smiles at Steve, and then the light changes, and he continues walking towards the supermarket.

Steve sees her three more times after that. Each time, she just catches his gaze and smiles before moving away, in the opposite direction. And each time, Steve frowns, and takes a different route than he might have usually taken, just to see if, and confirm if, she’s following him. 

She is. 

Finally, Steve makes his way to a little café that he likes to sit and sketch at sometimes, and orders a coffee. He’s not sure how much time passes, but his cup is half-empty by the time she appears for the fifth time. This time, however, when she catches Steve’s eye and smiles, she doesn’t walk away. Instead, she steps towards him, footsteps light and delicate before she comes to a stop in front of Steve, one hand on the chair facing him. 

“May I join you?” she asks, tilting her head. French, Steve thinks to himself, and then inclines his head towards the chair. 

“Of course, ma’am,” he replies politely. The woman sits down, smoothing her black skirt with a practiced motion. Something about her reminds Steve of Peggy, which should but doesn’t put Steve at ease. Steve just watches her with a wary face, the wheels in his head turning as he tries to figure out what is going on here. She laces her fingers together, setting them in her lap. 

“You’ve had an unproductive day, haven’t you?” the woman asks, tilting her head at Steve’s lack of bags. 

“You were following me,” Steve states, blunt. The woman smiles again, mysterious.

“Yes, I was,” she agrees amicably. 

“Why?” Steve demands. Her hands come up to the table, and she re-laces them together, placing her chin on top of them and leaning forward. 

“Would you believe me if I told you you were in danger?” she asks, still calm. 

“Why should I?” Steve responds. 

“Because,” she says, “I am not the only one who knows you are Captain Steven G. Rogers, born July 4th in the year 1918 to Joseph and Sarah Rogers. I am not the only one who knows that you are also Captain America, leader of the Howling Commandos and the Avengers, subject of Abraham Erskine’s Project Rebirth.” She stands, leans in until her lips are right next to Steve’s ear. “I know who you love,” she says, “and I am not the only one who does.” 

Around him, Steve feels the air freeze, as if the city is resetting itself the way Steve’s head is. _Tony,_ he thinks automatically, _Tony, Tony, Tony_. 

“Who are you?” Steve demands. The woman smiles. 

“I have been called many things lately,” she comments, “a ghost. A shade.” She pulls back, “But you, Captain Rogers, you may call me Mal. And now I have a question for you: do you remember how you got here?” 

\--

In a warehouse, the last rays of sunlight leave, and everything slips into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

The mind is the most vulnerable part of a human, but also the strongest. 

They play a dangerous game, rooting around in people’s heads, pulling out and planting secrets, avoiding detection and trying not to drop into limbo. But it’s an addicting game as well. Arthur has been a dreamer for most of his life, even before he discovered dreamshare. It only makes sense that he would fall into this profession and take to it like Eames and a poker table. Dreamshare is for those whose imaginations aren’t enough for them anymore. 

And for those who aren’t quite as creative, there’s really only one other option—make someone do it instead. 

\--

Arthur hates New York. Or, well, he hates this New York, a maze of half-familiar and half-imagined things. He hates that Ariadne had to build this beautiful place for such a terrible purpose, and he hates that Cobb is here once more, in when he was supposed to be out. Arthur even hates that Eames is here—or rather, not here, wearing the mask of a lithe assassin. But somewhere above them is Yusef, with a gun held to his head, and Phillipa and James, in a dark, cold room. Arthur swallows, and presses his lips together in a thin line. 

Get in, get the information, and get out. The faster the better, even though they had taken care of time as well. 

It should have been an easy job—keep Steve Rogers in Stark Towers, have Eames hand him a few tablets with passcode verifications, get out. But then Rogers’s usual errand route had changed suddenly, even though Ariadne had even taken care to keep his route in the maze the same, as so not to evoke suspicion. And now he was sitting at a café Arthur _knew_ he didn’t usually come to on Fridays, sitting with a cup of coffee. 

And then Mal shows up. 

Arthur comes to attention almost instantly, eyes widening, hands reaching for the phone in his pocket. He can’t hear either Rogers or Mal, but Arthur doesn’t have to hear to know what’s going to happen, and it’s his job to make sure Mal’s interference doesn’t screw this up. 

“We’ve got a problem,” Arthur snaps into the phone as Mal leans in, her lips brushing against Roger’s ear, “she showed up.”

“She who?” Cobb asks, his voice tiny in the pointman’s ear.

“You know who,” Arthur replies, “I thought you had gotten this under control, Cobb.” 

“ _Mal_?” Cobb exclaims in disbelief after a brief pause, “Mal is here? That can’t be right, I’m not—”

“She’s talking to Rogers right now,” Arthur says, “right across the street from me.” There is another pause, and then Cobb sighs, swearing. 

“That’s not our only problem,” Cobb says then, “ _he’s_ here.”   
“We told him not to interfere,” Arthur says sharply, and he can almost see Cobb running a hand through his hair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, but we’re not really in a place to argue with him,” Cobb says. Both of them fall silent, minds wracking through potential outs and coming up with none. 

“Alright,” Arthur says, “we’ve got no choice. I’ll take care of this here and then head back.” 

\--

Across the street, Mal sees Arthur. That’s her cue to exit the stage, and so she draws back from Steve, a small smile on her face. 

“Think about it,” she says, “and you will wake up.” Mal stands, the smile on her face widening. “I’ll see you again, Captain Rogers. Until then.” 

She blows him—and Arthur—a kiss.

\--

Ariadne is playing guard duty when Arthur gets back. She sits on the steps with a sketchbook in her hands, toying with her pencil. When he glances down, Arthur can see the beginnings of a figure, although there aren’t any distinctive features yet. There is a small frown on her mouth, a slight crinkle in her eyes, and it doesn’t take much of a leap for Arthur to guess exactly why. 

“Sometimes,” he says as he approaches her, “it’s not enough to dream.” Ariadne startles, before tilting her head up to look at Arthur, and then her mouth twists from a small frown into a small, wry smile. 

“I figured,” she says, “when they started holding real guns to our heads.” Arthur smiles, then, briefly, and then looks past her, at the doorway she is guarding. 

“He’s in there?” Arthur says, not quite a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” Ariadne confirms anyways, “talking with Cobb. How’d it go with Rogers?” 

“Mal showed up,” Arthur says. Ariadne gives him a disbelieving look. 

“Mal? But I thought—”

“Yeah,” Arthur says wryly, “that’s what I thought too. Cobb told me he had it under control.” Ariadne frowned deeper, tapping her pencil against the page. 

“She didn’t tip him off, though,” Arthur says, “the job’s still good.” 

“Well,” Ariadne replies, “that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” And that was the truth, because the last thing they need right now is for anything else to go wrong and disrupt their plans. It only allows for more details to slip through the cracks, and that is something they simply cannot afford right now. 

“Is something wrong on Eames’ end, then?” Arthur just asks instead. Ariadne shrugs.

“He hasn’t called and he isn’t picking up his phone,” she says, “I don’t know if no news is good news in this case.” They fall silent, Arthur running through scenarios in his head before sighing. 

“As long as he doesn’t screw anything up,” Arthur says, “we’ve got enough to worry about.” Ariadne nods, and Arthur takes the steps up past her, opening the door and making his way through the building. The murmurs coming from inside their dreamscape headquarters reveals that _he_ indeed is here, interfering where Cobb and Arthur had told him not to. Tourists don’t belong in dreamscapes, and Arthur believes that more and more with each passing day. 

Regardless, there is too much at stake here. Arthur straightens up, rapping on the door sharply. Cobb calls out a muffled invitation to enter, and Arthur enters, meeting the harried gaze of Cobb, and the emotionless face of a man in an iron suit.


	3. Chapter 3

When Steve leaves for a mission on Monday, Tony doesn’t think much of it. For one thing, Steve is Captain-fucking-America, and for another, if Tony thinks about it too much, he ends up jittery for hours on end and usually solders whatever is in his hands at the moment together in a fit of mad genius. And while Tony is not going to ever deny that he is a genius, even he can realize that perhaps attaching Clint’s bow to a coffee mug is more counterproductive than useful. (And Tony would have preferred to not have experienced the booby traps laid by the archer afterwards.)

Instead, Tony lets Pepper prod him into meetings, lets Bruce prod him into looking at physics equations, lets the rest of them prod him into the living room to watch old movies and reality shows, because Thor really likes America’s Next Top Model, strangely enough. Tony tries to convince himself that he isn’t worried, because, again, Steve is Captain America. They do this on a regular basis, the putting themselves in danger and saving the world from imminent doom. And Tony’s never cared before, not before Steve and their relationship, which is a word that still sits strangely in the man’s head and mouth. Not that it doesn’t send a shiver through his spine and down to his fingers. 

This sort of thing is normal, so normal for them, that Tony feels rather stupid for worrying at all. But he keeps doing it anyways, secretly, because he may or may not be in love with Steve Rogers. 

When Steve doesn’t come back on Tuesday, Tony shrugs and goes back to banging on things—sulking, although he doesn’t admit it. When Steve doesn’t come back on Wednesday, Tony almost blows up the floor of the Tower his workshop is on trying to distract himself. When Steve doesn’t come back on Thursday, Tony hacks into SHIELD’s records. (Nick Fury, however, seems to have anticipated this, and the details of Steve’s mission and status are absolutely nowhere to be found on SHIELD databases and servers.) Maria Hill yells at Tony for three straight hours for that, and only because Tony knows that Fury didn’t want to deal with him at all. On Friday, Hill calls Tony again to tersely inform him that Captain America has dropped off SHIELD’s radar completely and that even they are starting to get worried. 

On Friday, Iron Man sets out from Avengers Tower. 

\--

Something is wrong. 

Steve sits at his table for a few more minutes after the woman—Mal—leaves, his brow furrowed, a frown on his lips. Had it been a warning, or a threat? _I know who you love_ , she had said. _They’re not safe,_ she had implied. Steve stands up, suddenly, the cups on the table rattling with force as he rises. The soldier throws a couple of bills on the table, and then shakes his head before he heads back to Avengers Tower. 

Natasha meets him at the door, a sheaf of papers in her hand. 

“You need to sign these,” she tells him, holding out the papers, “and would you mind taking these to Tony? I think he’s downstairs working on the suit.” 

“Sure,” Steve says, “did Tony seclude himself in the workshop again?” Natasha raises an eyebrow at him as he takes the papers, her hand dropping delicately to her side. 

“Right,” Steve laughs, “bad question.” Steve flips through the papers briefly before heading to the kitchen, fixing a sandwich and a mug of coffee for Tony—because in all likelihood, he won’t have eaten, and Tony wouldn’t realize how hungry he was until there was a plate in front of him and a mug of coffee in his hands. 

And sure enough, when Steve pads downstairs, JARVIS lowering the volume of Tony’s music automatically, Tony’s head pops up from the innards of an engine, and he smiles at Steve.

“Hey,” Steve says, “I made you a sandwich.” 

“I can see that, Captain Boyscout,” Tony snarks, but he comes over anyways, “but I’m more interested in you. Or the coffee.” Tony looks from the mug to Steve, as if deciding, and then plucks the mug out of Steve’s hands, downing all the liquid in one gulp. 

“Yep, now definitely most interested in you,” Tony grins, setting the mug down and tilting his face up, peering at Steve through his eyelashes. Steve rolls his eyes, but leans down, kissing Tony lightly on the lips, chaste and gentle before he pulls away.

“Sandwich first,” Steve says, “and signatures.” 

“Signatures?” Tony questions, and Steve holds out the papers that Natasha had given him. Tony takes them, flipping through them rapidly, eyes flickering back and forth. Steve can almost hear the thoughts whirling through his head. 

“Fury,” Tony snorts, and throws the papers onto a table, and then reaches for the plate. “It’s not anything important, just copyright and trademark stuff. I’ll take care of it later.” He takes a bite of the sandwich, and Steve would tell Tony to sign them, because it had seemed like it was important, but if Steve interrupted Tony, he would start arguing and forget about his food. And Tony already forgot to take care of himself so often. So instead, Steve just rolled his eyes again, moving closer to Tony, who leaned against the super-soldier in an automatic gesture.

“And besides,” Tony says, “SHIELD does not need to know the specifications of my patents on Iron Man. But it was hidden very well, I’ll give them that. Props to Fury. Did Natasha or Coulson give you those?” 

“Natasha,” Steve replies, frowning, “you don’t think she—”

“Nah,” Tony says, “I was just wondering. I don’t think she picked up on it, for all her creepy superspy powers.” He popped the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before licking mayonnaise off his fingers deliberately.

“Well then,” Tony continues, a grin spreading over his face, “now that everything is taken care of, how about you and I—”

But Steve doesn’t get to find out what Tony wants them to do, because then the glass walls of Tony’s workshop shatter, and there are gunshots. Steve dives, pulling Tony to the ground and frantically trying to remember where he had put his shield. When he looks up, there is a masked man holding a gun to his forehead, and another one besides him, holding another gun to Tony’s head.


End file.
